In a recent batch of records intended for review we received an interesting
album bearing the simple title "1926", and carrying a picture
of the funeral of Rudolph Valentino on its sleeve! From the title one
could be excused for expecting another selection from the many great jazz
recordings of the period, but the percentage of jazz to be heard among
the sixteen titles proved to be minimal. The album nevertheless conjured
up some interesting recollections, although better examples of the work
of some. of the artists to be heard might have been chosen.

A recording by Jack Smith, the Whispering Baritone, of a tune bearing.
the unwieldy title "Gimme A Little Kiss (Will Ya, Huh?)" illustrates
this point. The term crooner was not then in general use, although another
artist named Nick Lucas used to call himself The Crooning Troubador, but
Smith was really one of the first crooners, and had a great deal of style
both in his voice and in his own piano accompaniments. A better choice
from his repertoire would have been either "Cecilia", "I'm
Knee Deep In Daisies" or "Who Takes Care Of The Caretaker's
Daughter!" Jack Smith worked on the variety stage and in cabaret
in the days before public address equipment was available and, although
his "whispering" style was ideal for broadcasting or recording,
and perhaps to a lesser extent for cabaret, he came up against problems
when working on stage. These he managed to overcome to some degree by
using a huge specially constructed box- like chamber down- stage near
the footlights, which was large enough to accommodate both him and his
grand piano.

The idea, of course, was to prevent sound being lost in the flies, and
in this respect it was reasonably successful, but I cannot imagine what
today's sound- battered theatre audiences would think about it.

A 1926 recording by Johnny Hamp's Kentucky Serenaders of "Black
Bottom" made me recall that some two or three years later this band
were performing at London's then famous Kit Kat Club in the Haymarket,
whilst round the corner at the Cafe de Paris there was to be heard the
much superior band of Hal Kemp, which included Bunny Berigan and Micky
Bloom on trumpets and Skinnay Ennis on drums, and Gus Arnheim's Orchestra
was down at the Savoy Hotel. Many other American bands had preceded these
three and many others followed, whilst British musicians usually found
themselves in second- rate jobs or unemployed.

Ultimately the British Ministry of Labour (now Department of Employment)
imposed a ban- upon the entry into Britain of American bands, but this
did not occur until 1935, when the Jack Hylton Orchestra, engaged for
a tour of the USA, was barred from entering America and the musicians'
instruments were impounded. The British Ministry's action came as a reprisal
and did not result from any action by the Musicians' Union, as has so
often been so wrongly stated. Neither was there ever a dispute between
the Union and the American Federation of Musicians- another myth furthered
by various writers of books and .magazine or newspaper articles. Hylton
was permitted to stay on in the States to conduct an American orchestra,
and also to retain and feature blind pianist/entertainer Alec Templeton
and singer Pat O'Malley.

These two decided to settle in the States and the former died just a
few years ago. O'Malley, now J. Patrick O'Malley, and an accomplished
actor, can often be seen playing character parts in American TV films.
I first remember him as the druummer with Spike Hughes's Cambridge Nightwatchmen
at the Cafe de Paris somewhere around the winter of 1929/30. The ban on
American bands was ultimately lifted in 1955, when the reciprocal exchange
scheme, devised by the British Musicians' Union and previously operated
between them and the unions of various European countries, was adopted
by the AF of M— the first Anglo/American exchange occurring in the early
part of 1956.

Reverting for the moment to the "1926" album, there is much
to interest those who may want to hear the sound of the dance music of
those days, some of the players of which, though frequently unsuccessful,
were sincere in their desire to endow it with a beat. Jazz interest creeps
into "Sunday", by Jean Goldkette's Orchestra, which includes
an excellent guitar accompaniment by Eddie Lang (named on the sleeve)
to an awful vocal by the Keller Sisters and Lynch, a well- known group
of the day, some interesting clarinet playing by Jimmy Dorsey (not named
on the sleeve), and a solo by a trombone player who could have been Miff
Mole, but was more likely Bill Rank playing in the style of Mole.

In "Jersey Walk", a medley by the orchestra of Roger Wolfe
Kahn, there is to be heard a good trombone solo which I would think was
played by Mole himself, whilst in "Static Strut", by The Original
Memphis Five, a recording title which hid the identities of various groups
of well- known jazz musicians between 1922 and 1927, the performance is
dominated. by the pianist, who I am sure was Frank Signorelli, although
I would not presume to identify the others. It was, however, what was
probably the most painful item in the album, a corny ballad titled "Thinking
Of You" sung by Gene Austin, a popular singer of the 'twenties and
early 'thirties, that sent my mind along another trend of thought. In
the field of popular music it was often the players who achieved the seemingly
impossible by making the proverbial "silk purse out of the sow's
ear", and I remembered what happened to a dreadful 3/4 ditty of the
'thirties entitled "It’s My Mother's Birthday Today"- usually
supported by shouts of "last orders, please"— when handled by
the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra. Dorsey's own solo set the pattern for a great
beaty 4/4 performance, which caused the listener to forget entirely the
source of the opus!